Sweeter Resistance
by ElvenDestiny
Summary: Vaughn might be everything Sydney needs, but is he everything she wants? One encounter with Sark leaves Sydney's world completely upside down as she struggles to deny the truths she is afraid to face. Sarkney.


_Step into the light, illuminating you for all to see  
Come into my sight, empty handed not for me.  
It's in your hands, my one demand, no one can tell  
The sins I need to sell. I'm still sipping from your well,  
Reflecting back to me, your perfection in my eye;  
Hurt me, break me, take me.  
You're wanting, you're watching, you're haunting me.  
It's in your mind, no one can find, no one can hear  
The words I want to fear. I'm still sipping from your well,  
Reflecting back to me, your perfection in my eye;  
Hurt me, break me, take me.  
It's all of your light, shadow lifting, falling down to me  
Becoming your light, empty, melting all over you.  
_

Gravity Kills – Hold

o o o

****

Sweeter Resistance

By ElveNDestiNy

October 31, 2006

o o o

Disclaimer: I don't own Alias or any of the characters. No copyright infringement intended.

*

_Caught. _

She tried not to focus on the word, knowing that if she did, she would lose the concentration that she badly needed in order to formulate a plan to get her out of this mess. Sydney took deep, even breaths and tried to pretend she didn't know that the man who had trapped her in this room could kill her without a second thought.

She even forced herself to meet his gaze and to hold it steady, although the clear blue of her captor's eyes sent fear sliding down her back like a blade of ice. It was little comfort to know that her mission had succeeded, as far as the transfer of information to the CIA was concerned. Now there was just this little matter of getting out alive.

Unfortunately, the door only had one room, and the man was standing in front of it. He was also pointing a gun at her, whereas she was weaponless. However, these factors alone weren't enough to warrant her controlled panic. No, that was due solely to her recognition of the man, who was dressed all in black but had not bothered with any disguise.

Sark gave her a crooked smile, knowing that he had all the advantages in this highly volatile situation. "Hello, Agent Bristow."

"You're too late," she said flatly.

"I would be, if I were here to stop you," he said amiably enough, but the words made her tense even more. She swallowed hard, stepping closer to him deliberately, movements edgy. She was showing her nerves, but she wanted to make him think that she was uncertain of how to deal with him. Trick him into thinking she was easy prey, although by now he should know better.

"Odd place to choose for a rendezvous, don't you think? We both know that the security team out there is just as likely to kill you as they are to kill me." Her throat was dry, but she made the words almost flirtatious, a dangerous game. Sark could be distracted.

"We could go someplace else to talk, if you'd like, Sydney." He didn't move away as she approached, and the gun was steady on her.

"Sorry, not interested," she said flippantly. She didn't like that he had used her first name. Hated it, in fact.

"I'm afraid that you don't have much choice," he said, a scant moment before she threw herself at him. Her foot came up in a blur of motion to kick away the gun, even as she executed a maneuver to knock him further off balance.

He had sensed the movement and moved away, so the contact was brief. Her foot glanced off the gun, the force not direct enough to disarm him, but Sydney recovered well. Unfortunately, she was simply not fast enough, because his blow snapped her head back painfully and for a moment her vision bloomed black with pain. He moved in, taking advantage of her lapse, and she wobbled backward.

"Why interfere?" she asked, aware that he had held himself back. He could have followed up with something to knock her out, if that was his intention, and as for killing her – well, the gun would have taken care of that easily enough. No, there was more to it.

"You might say that this is a…personal mission of mine."

"Meaning that my mother sent you," she retorted. "You know that you're too late. I copied everything to the CIA already."

"Does your world revolve around the Agency, Sydney?"

She opened her mouth to retort but he had seen the flicker in her eyes, and knew that he had struck too close to the truth. "I know," he said with a faint smile. "It gives meaning to your life. Your father's in the game, your mother, your friends, even your lover."

"It isn't a game, Sark. It never was." _Only people like you can treat it like a game_, she wanted to say. His eyes fixed on hers and she could tell that he'd heard her silent thought anyway.

"Isn't it?" His laughter was almost wry. "Beyond the noble intents to serve your country, the sense of justice so deeply engrained in you that it's all but instinct…you thrive on it. Don't pretend otherwise."

"I'm not here to play with you." That word again. _Play_.

He continued on as if she hadn't interrupted. "What I can't figure out, though, Sydney – is it that you haven't discovered yourself? Or is it all just denial?"

She wanted to tell him to shut up. She wanted to get out of this cage, this trap that he'd cornered her into, made of his presence and his words. She was losing objectivity fast, if he could divert her so much with some words. So instead, Sydney swung at him again in a movement so fast that he could barely react in time. Her foot collided with the back of his knee, so that he was unbalanced. It was hardly enough to disable him, but she used the time to make for the door.

It was almost halfway open before the first bullet ripped through it.

Her time was up. Sydney had had about four minutes to get in and get out, but Sark's presence had changed all that. The communication device she had flickered off with a hiss in her ear; the technological takeover must have been detected and shut down despite all of Marshall's efforts. But Sark was in just as much trouble as she was, as she had pointed out. Behind her, she heard him curse and she dropped down, taking cover as the door was riddled with bullets. No one needed to remind her that it was the _only _door out of this place. It was designed as a vault, and had the impenetrability of a fortress. Fortunately, they had discovered a way in. The only problem was, now she needed to get out.

Something warm and hard collided into her side with a soft grunt, and she turned to look at Sark, resisting the instinctive, childish impulse to shove him away. Seconds passed as they listened for the end of the gunfire. She was uncomfortably aware that she was pressed up so close against an internationally wanted terrorist that his body heat warmed her. No sooner had the thought registered, however, Sark went on the move. He tugged at her hand and she turned to see him gesturing to another corner of the room.

"Escape hatch," he said. "It wasn't in the original designs of the room."

Which had been the maps that Sydney and the CIA had used in planning the whole mission. She hesitated, and then gave a nod. It wasn't like she trusted him, but there was little else she could really do right now anyway, and no doubt Sark was interested in keeping his own skin intact. She _had _brushed up against him repeatedly and had not quite died from it yet. There would be plenty of time to double cross him later, provided they got out in the first place.

The gunfire stopped at that moment and Sydney reacted with all the speed of instinct, rather than training. Besides her, she was aware that Sark was doing the same. They had scant moments before the security would come through the door; they might have guessed that she had a gun, but it was worth the risk, and they didn't know that she wasn't alone.

She could see it now, concealed pretty well in the floor design, but by no means truly hidden. Still, the critical moments it took for someone to find it would give the security team time to do their jobs. The latch was locked; Sark shot it off and she grabbed the handle and yanked. It opened easily, revealing a hole about two feet by two feet. She hesitated before dropping down, but Sark beat her to it, so she followed, letting the hatch close above her.

For one horrifying moment she was falling and it was pitch black. She landed somewhat awkwardly and a pained grunt told her that her knee had connected with some part of Sark. Sydney scrambled to hands and knees, adrenaline making her heart pound.

"Where the hell are we? It's going to take them all of a minute to follow us down here."

With a nearly soundless click, a thin beam of light pierced the darkness so that she could see they were in some kind of underground tunnel. Sark was holding a hand to his ribs with a rueful expression despite the seriousness of the situation, but she didn't feel the least bit guilty for his injury. His other hand held a high-powered flashlight.

"Be quiet and follow me, Sydney." He started off and she started after him grimly. It wasn't as if she had any other option; she'd followed him this far and now she had to trust him to get them out of this situation. Of course, none of this would have happened if he hadn't interrupted her mission out of some damned whim.

As if he could feel her glare on his back, Sark turned around briefly, the light making his eyes dark and glittering and emphasizing the clean, perfect lines of his facial structure. "You won't die tonight, Sydney. I know what I'm doing."

"Like hell you do," she couldn't help but retort. They were making their way rather fast despite the twisting tunnels and the several paths that had already branched off, but it seemed to indicate that Sark indeed knew where they were going. Relief warred with annoyance.

They didn't speak much after that as Sydney concentrated on following Sark, who unerringly picked lefts, rights, and middles each time they came to a divergence. She estimated that they had at least come two miles, and the tunnels were slanted downwards, but it was harder to know exactly how deep they had gone. Even her trained memory could barely keep up with the turns, and she experienced a moment of trepidation as she wondered if she could make her way back.

"Suppose this is all a trap," she said when she had caught up to him. He didn't seem startled that she had been right behind him.

"Then I suppose you won't have any way out," Sark said infuriatingly.

"I could go back," she offered, just to see how he would react. She had already made up her mind to follow him.

"And face all those gunmen yourself? Please, Sydney, you're good but even you couldn't take those odds." He gave a husky laugh that ran down her spine like a feather and made her shiver.

The walls were smoother stone now, and lighter colored. "How do you know that they won't be waiting on the other side?"

"Have a little faith in me, Sydney," he said dryly. He seemed to delight in using her name, probably knowing how much it irritated her. A smile played around the corners of his mouth. "Don't worry, we'll be there soon."

He turned around to face her, and she lowered her gaze. Sark's eyes were bright and taunting, but there was a warmth there that she was uncomfortable with, as if whatever he laid eyes on would catch fire. "I promise." He sounded almost serious.

Sydney figured that he had no reason to lie, and went along docilely enough. She was already thinking of how she could overtake him, but it seemed wrong somehow. True, she wouldn't have been caught if he had not shown up, but he _had _inadvertently or otherwise saved her, and it seemed low to repay him by betraying him in turn.

_This is Sark, _she repeated to herself. _Sark. The man who is all but your mother's protégé…who's most definitely working on the wrong side of the law. Despicable. Cold-blooded killer. Nice, expensive cologne that might as well be called Eau de Terroriste. _

Despite herself, she felt a thrill run through her that had nothing to do with right and wrong and everything to do with the fact that, like it or not, Sark was attractive. Saliva flooded her mouth as she remembered the kiss she had exchanged with him, right before he had escaped – yet again – and remembered the vivid taste of salt, lemon, and underneath it all, Sark. She'd bitten him, too.

Sydney ruthlessly pushed her stray thoughts aside as they slowed. A door was ahead, and Sark paused to hand the flashlight to her while he opened it with some force. His hand slipped through the doorway and flicked on lights. The room inside looked like an ordinary office: highly polished chairs, bright lights, and in the middle, a glossy dark conference table.

He turned to her, a dark gleam in his eye that made her think that he might have read her previous thoughts. Sark gave her a crooked smile and gestured for her to enter first; she shook her head, making it clear that she didn't trust him any more than she had when he had first pulled a gun on her.

"Still so convinced that I'll hurt you?"

She didn't deign him with an answer. Instead, she countered with her own question. "What is this place?"

"They use it for top level security meetings. There are easier ways of getting to it than going through the tunnels, of course. I suspect they would have blocked off all aboveground entrances the moment the alert went out, but if we lie low here for a while, security would have thinned enough for us to make a break for it."

It was one of the most straightforward and longest speeches she had heard from him, and despite herself, Sydney appreciated it. Still…something about his words didn't ring completely true, and she reminded herself that she wouldn't have had to resort to this if he hadn't interrupted her getaway.

"Why won't they think of looking for us here?" she asked, looked at him closely. But Sark had always been the consummate actor, and she doubted that he would give any sign even in claiming something completely outrageous. Sark, with a straight face, claiming that his mother was an alien.

The thought brought an unwilling smile to her lips, and Sydney suddenly realized that she had relaxed her guard around him because he was almost…well, familiar. They'd danced the dance enough times. Sure, he could scare her, but her natural confidence told her that she could handle him, or if not exactly that, at least out-manipulate him. Besides, Sark could be, well, almost likeable. When he wasn't trying to kill you.

"Why would they? No one knows that there's an underground route here through the tunnels. You've seen how far we came. The underground maze has been around for years, and I doubt any of the current inhabitors of the building even know that it's here."

"Which brings up an interesting question. How would you happen to know it so well?" she asked pointedly.

"Does it matter? You're not good at gratitude, are you, Sydney?" he said mockingly. The predator had returned. He leaned against the table and she deliberately would not meet his gaze, lowering her eyes. Unfortunately, that meant that she stared at his mouth, and from there her eyes followed the line of his neck down to where the collar of his shirt was unbuttoned.

"You haven't told me what this is all for in the first place," she reminded him.

"Can't old friends call on each other?"

"Is that what we are?" Sydney arched a brow at him, aware that she wasn't behaving as he had probably expected. Good, she wanted to throw him off a little. If playing the coquette would unnerve him, so much the better. Powerful men, rich men, often fell to one specific weakness: women. The other half of the whole.

Except it didn't work as well as she might have hoped because Sark looked like a cat who had just discovered an untouched bowl of cream. He stepped closer to her again, and she forced herself not to retreat. It was ridiculous even to feel as if she should.

"Let me guess, Sydney," he said silkily, locking his darkened gaze with hers. "He's everything you need. But not everything you _want_, is he?"

_Vaughn_. Suddenly, she realized that she hadn't even thought about how frantic he must have been over the last hour as she had disappeared with Sark. Did the CIA even know about Sark's presence? Probably not. So to all reports, Sydney had merely vanished after the data had transferred.

Sark's words also hit her hard, more so because of the strong rush of guilt that left her almost dizzy. She couldn't believe that she hadn't even thought of him – even _once _– because she was so caught up with Sark. She'd played right into Sark's hands. What was wrong with her? All this time, she'd relaxed and almost enjoyed herself, and Vaughn was out there waiting, probably thinking that she'd been gunned down the minute the mission had gone wrong.

She didn't understand how she could have forgotten something like that. It was a bit like watching yourself bleed and wondering why you couldn't feel the injury. It was almost as if Sark had been right, that she was addicted to some kind of game here, the risks, the mental and physical challenges without which she would grow bored. Her voice shook slightly with fury, more aimed towards herself than towards him, but she stared steadily into his eyes. They were impossibly clear and blue, but the expression in them was anything but innocent. "You know nothing about me, Sark. Your psychological games won't work."

"He would be a gentle lover," he continued, undeterred. "Oh, sometimes the sex might get a little rough, because you're more spice than sugar… But we both know that he'll never match up to you."

"He's perfect," she hissed in a rush of guilt and defensive anger, and the moment the words escaped her, she knew she had made a mistake. She should have said anything but that. Something along the lines of 'why are you doing this?' or just ignoring him…but instead, Sark now knew that he had struck a sensitive chord. She was letting him dominate the conversation, and he was taking it in areas she found hard to defend.

_And Vaughn is a weakness you can't defend?_

"Of course. He's a saint, by all means, but that's exactly it, isn't it? He doesn't ride the edge of darkness the way you do, can't rejoice and take comfort in the hint of violence, even pain." Sark moved in for the kill, his soft British accent nearly cruel, though his perfect control was belied by his actions.

He had stepped close enough that he suddenly reached out and grabbed her arms, turning her around and all but throwing her against the wall before she had even registered his intent to attack. She instinctively tried to put her hands forward to soften the impact but he was already there, pulling her arms backward, hands clenched in a harsh grip around her wrists.

He moved like a leashed tiger, she thought dazedly, cheek smarting from the hard contact with the wall, and felt a coil of fear low in her belly when he stepped in close, giving her no space. She tried to think of something to say, some kind of defense, but there was nothing. He had probably planned this all along.

"In fact," he breathed into the curve of her neck, "he would be horrified at this side of you. What would he do, Sydney, if he saw you like this, knew that some part of you, however much you try to deny it, is begging for more?"

Her mouth opened, in preparation for words she had not thought of yet, and he took her chin, turning her head sharply to the side so that her neck protested the strain. The next moment, his mouth descended on hers with a bruising force, exploring, taking, and she could do nothing but feel.

It was he who broke the kiss first, and Sydney pressed her check to the wall, hearing her ragged breaths, feeling her pulse thrumming in her veins. _This is Sark_, she thought for a terrified, irrational moment. She repeated it, lips shaping the name, as if to remind herself. _Sark, this is Sark, Sark, Sark – _

He bit her. Hard enough that she was sure her neck would carry the marks for days later, but not hard enough to break the skin. She arched, caught between the wall and his indomitable force, about to cry out and then silencing herself out of training. She closed her eyes, whispered. "Don't do this to me…"

"Why don't you sound convincing, Sydney?" He made the name exotic, and he was motionless, a sharp contrast to her involuntarily shuddering body. She tried not to let herself dwell on the accent, or the warmth that pooled low in her body at the breathy sound of his voice. He caught her sensitive earlobe between his teeth and she shuddered.

"Did you take us here just for this?" Focus, back to the hard facts. Ignore everything else. But it was hard to concentrate when she was trapped in Sark's magnetic aura and melting into heat. How could she even be attracted to him? How could she betray Vaughn…no, betray _herself _like this?

"What do you think?" His leg slid between her thighs, pushing them apart as his hand cradled her hip, pulling her lower body against his. He gave a quiet sound of satisfaction as he felt her shock at finding him hard. She could focus on nothing but the heat of the body pressed against her back, the designer clothes doing nothing to hide the almost electric knowledge that only a few layers separated them.

"There's a connection between us that you can't deny, Sydney," he said against her neck. "Your mother, my father…do you remember what I told you when we met?"

"I killed your father," she hissed, completely still as he traced her collarbone with his lips.

"You and I, we're destined to be together, Sydney," he continued without acknowledging her interruption.

"_Work _together," she corrected through gritted teeth, but she made no move to stop him as one hand came up to touch her breast. She stiffened at the contact, denying her reaction, as he gave a soft, surprised laugh.

"So you do remember…I knew you did." Despite everything, she was losing her will to resist quickly. Even her movement to escape was weak and fluidly transformed to the rhythm of Sark's movements against her, rubbing against her ass. When his hand swept over her belly and downwards, she tried to jerk her hips backwards with a breathless denial, but his arms wrapped around her tightly.

"Imagine…how good it could feel," he rasped in her ear. "To be yourself, no shame, no pretense, no holding back. I can take everything you can give me, Sydney, and you know it."

"In your dreams, Sark," she said as flatly as she could, trying to focus. How long had they been here? Usually she was excellent at estimated time regardless of where she was, but he'd managed to throw off her internal clock along with everything else.

He kissed her again, and this time, anger flared. There was something about a kiss that made it more intimate than anything else he could have done, that made it more than physical sensation and lust. Prostitutes weren't kissed, they were fucked.

He thought she would be passive, to take, and she had been doing that. She wanted to struggle, too, but he would have expected that. So she did something different, something almost cruel, because she knew that he wanted her more than she wanted him, and it gave her the critical edge. She only had to maintain it, and so she kissed him back hard, unexpectedly. She didn't let him take control and he responded, leaning into the kiss, until she stepped back.

There was shock in his eyes from the abrupt movement, the realization that she'd broken free so easily. He pulled her close again and Sydney shoved at him. His face changed, losing the slightly dazed look that he wore. Confusion passed through his eyes and perhaps some dark emotion and then anger.

He still let go, even though both knew that they could have resorted to more desperate measures. It was a sign of their mutual respect, perhaps, that she didn't place a well-aimed kick, or he didn't try to overpower her by trickery or force.

Backing away from him somehow made it worse, not better. Vaughn, Dixon, her dad. She kept those people in the front of her mind, imagining how worried they would be after communication cut off and time dragged on. Sydney could barely understand what had just happened…she had kissed Sark. She had kissed Sark even though she was in love with Vaughn and had enjoyed it. Maybe even invited more. The growing sense of betrayal and guilt finally cleared her mind and she headed for the door.

Rather than stopping her, Sark stepped smoothly behind her like a shadow, unobtrusive even when he reached for the door first and held it open for her. The gentlemanly gesture was so out of place in the situation that Sydney almost laughed. Her job exposed her to a lot of dangerous and world-threatening things, but it was when personal mixed with impersonal that things became bizarre. Like Sark, following her now when she knew he was still aroused and was painfully aware that she, too, still felt the lingering attraction.

They came to the first tunnel juncture and she stopped, automatically searching her memory for the right path and finding…nothing. For a moment she stood still with surprised, and then she muttered a curse, turning around to see Sark's bright and amused eyes.

"I believe you need my guidance," he said smoothly and infuriatingly, as if everything were back to normal. "I'll exchange it for a question answered."

She didn't let herself be shocked or irritated by his play. It was Sark. It was just so…well, maybe not unusual for him to be flirtatious, but she knew that when it came down to it, Sark was one of the best—pity he was on the wrong side—and he didn't let it become a distraction when he was on a job. So then didn't he consider this a job?

She couldn't imagine that he would put his life in danger for anything trivial, and certainly not to simply meet up with her. But Sark still hadn't demanded anything or even told her what he was really after. He had put on his deceptive mask again and for a moment she was sorry that she had caused it, that she couldn't read his emotions in his eyes any more. Then she remembered that it didn't matter, because she didn't want to.

"Get us out," she said with a certain simplicity, believing she knew what he would ask. Something about whether she really believed that she loved Vaughn, and Sydney knew that she could always look inside her heart and answer _yes_.

Sark seemed to search her expression for a moment and then gave a brief nod. He wordlessly led the way, and Sydney followed, mentally reviewing everything that had happened, somehow certain that Sark was doing the same thing as he picked out the passages in front of her.

It took a long time, though her sense of direction told her that he wasn't leading her into some kind of obvious trap. They were heading upward again at a gradual ascent and he never hesitated when choosing the tunnels. Nor did he communicate with any outside source that she could discern, although there were always ways to conceal those sorts of things. It was enough time to replay the entire scenario three times in her head. He stopped at last and Sydney came up next to him, watching as he pointed the flashlight ahead of them to reveal a door.

"This should get us safely out. I have a car parked not far from here." He saw her look and shrugged gracefully. "No fears, Sydney. No one's waiting for us. No one even knows that I'm here with you."

She didn't believe him, but it probably wouldn't matter either way, so she chose not to take issue with it. Stepping past Sark and trying not to look acutely conscious of his presence, she tried to open the door and found that it was locked, and in a surprising way. It had an old-fashioned lock, nothing electronic or technology based.

He was holding up a set of matching old-fashioned lockpicks when she turned around, forestalling her protests. "One question, Sydney. You didn't want to kiss me, did you?"

Her first instinct was to snap, _of course not._ She loved Vaughn. Sark was…Sark was someone despicable, that she frequently ran into, always opposing her. But it was the way that he had asked the question that made her hesitate. The particular way that he phrased the question so it was barely a question at all.

"No," she said honestly. He didn't ask for an explanation, but she felt as if she should give one, except it was impossible to translate it into words. How she'd needed to get the upper hand in their unspoken kind of contest. How she loved Vaughn, but had been attracted to Sark, maybe still was, even. How that disgusted her, how she had felt so much contempt for him. It was harsh, but it was part of the truth, at least. It was just that the truth was very complicated.

"You played me," he said quietly, without infliction. He handed her the lockpicks and, not knowing what else to do, she turned away from him and focused on the lock. Somehow there was a tightness in her chest, a feeling that made her want to apologize, and she hated it. She owed him nothing. If anything, he owed her.

There was a small staircase, no more than twelve or so steps leading up, and Sydney followed it up to see the night sky outside, too aware that he was following her. When they reached the top, she stopped, not sure what direction to go or what to do. She should rejoin the people waiting for her, but instead of walking away, she stayed.

He was looking upwards, as if he didn't want to meet her eyes, and it made her want to look up as well to see what was so fascinating. "Well, it's goodbye then, Sydney."

It was unexpected. She didn't even know what she had been expecting, except that he couldn't have just gone to such lengths for nothing. _That's it? _Apparently so, but she wasn't buying it. "Why did you crash my mission then?"

One black-clothed shoulder shrugged gracefully, still visible against the darkness. "Go back to them, Sydney. Just remember what I told you. You can't hide from your own nature forever." His expression was cool, appraising. "There's one thing I want to make clear, though. If you ever kiss me again, you had better mean it."

"It'll never happen again." _It shouldn't have happened the first time_, she wanted to add. But there was cruel, and then there was another kind of cruel. And she wasn't sure if it would be cruel to her or to him.

Sark reached out and his hand closed around her wrist securely, but exerting no painful pressure, though she had tensed in anticipation of it. He leaned in and again, she stood still, not exactly frozen and yet making no move to evade.

"Be as cruel as you want to be, Sydney. After all, resistance is always sweeter," he whispered before he released her.

She walked quickly away without a backward glance, but knew that he was watching her.

* * *

A/N: This is an experiment that I might continue if people are interested. Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed it. **Please review**!


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